


Right, Mary?

by SignCherie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: sympathetic to John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/SignCherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a failure as a father, and he knows it.</p>
<p>For fic_obsessed, who read my only Supernatural fic and asked me to write more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right, Mary?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fic_obsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fic_obsessed/gifts).



John was up to his eyeballs in research. One of his Hunter contacts had gotten her hands on some very old manuscripts, and as it turned out, Azazel was a prominent feature in them. If only the translations weren’t garbled all to hell, he’d probably be making serious headway right now. As it was, he was hunched over the little table in the motel corner, flipping through incomprehensible pages and trying to figure out what the connections were.

He could be so close to the key to keeping Sammy safe from that yellow-eyed murderer. The answer could be right here under his fingertips. And he couldn’t make any goddamned sense out of it.

So when the door burst open and he lost his train of thought, he was not in the best of moods.

“Damnit, Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

Dean’s eyes were wide, and his voice was small. “Dad, I-- I need your help.”

“Can’t you take care of it?” he snapped.

Dean seemed to shrink in on himself.

Damnit. Damn, damn, damn. John pushed away from the table forcefully, cursing the loss of understanding that had been just within his grasp. Did Dean think this was some sort of game? Hadn’t he gotten it into his head how important this work was?

He followed Dean outside. The boy ran down the rickety motel stairs to the patch of grass at the edge of the parking lot.

Sammy was there under a tree, crying. His small hand was pressed against his forehead, and blood was dripping out from underneath it.

John cursed loudly and descriptively enough that he hoped his kids knew better than to repeat it.

Dean knelt beside his little brother and put his arms around him. “It’ll be okay now, see? Dad is here. He’ll take care of it.”

Yes, John would take care of it. He would take care of everything. He would track down the monster that had taken his wife from him, and bring in money, and keep them moving, and chase after a two-year-old. He would do all those things, why not?

Because he couldn’t, that was why not. He was only one person. He needed Dean to help him. He needed him to be on top of these things.

“What happened, Dean? Weren’t you watching him?”

Dean’s eyes turned hard. “Of course I was.”

“If you were watching him, how did this happen?”

“I-- we were playing, and he just ran into the tree.”

“You let him run into a tree?”

“I didn’t know he was going to do it!”

John ran a hand over his face. He wasn’t going to make any progress today. All that work to keep his kids safe, and they get hurt all by themselves right outside the door.

“He’s too little for me to stitch him up myself. I guess it’s the hospital, then. I’ll get the car. You think you can keep him from running into trees for two minutes?”

Sammy cried harder, pressing his face against Dean’s shirt. Great. All that blood. He’d have to replace both their clothes now.

That was the wrong thing to be thinking. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop it.

Dean face was hard, his mouth set into a tight line. “I’ll keep him safe.”

John turned on his heel and walked away without answering him.

It wasn’t until he got into the Impala that he let himself crumble. He rested his head on the steering wheel and tried to figure out what to do.

He was the worst failure of a father ever.

This was not what parents did. They didn’t drag their kids around from motel to motel, neglecting them to pore over stupid old manuscripts. Parents were not supposed to leave their kids behind while they went off to kill monsters. Parents made their kids lunches and sent them to school. Kids were supposed to have houses and friends and stability.

They were supposed to have mothers.

Mary would hate him for what he was doing now. He was under no illusions to the contrary. She was so loving and warm. She would have cared for their boys every day of their lives if she were here. She would want him to be doing it in her place now that she was gone.

John was failing her. He was making Dean do everything that Mary would have done, and it wasn’t fair. Dean was just a kid. John wasn’t stupid. He knew it was wrong. He knew he should be doing it himself.

And he could do it. He could be the person Mary would have wanted him to be. He didn’t think he was so far gone that the man she had loved was completely lost. He could give up Hunting, give up Azazel, devote himself to his family and let the rest go. It might even be the right thing to do.

But if the yellow-eyed bastard came back…

John couldn’t stand to lose either of the boys to the demon. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t even think about it.

Better a bad childhood than no future. Right? Right, Mary?

His only answer was silence.

John started the Impala and went to pick up his kids.

 

 


End file.
